


If All Else Perished And He Remained

by wildflowersoul



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Violence, Wuthering Heights References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29623932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildflowersoul/pseuds/wildflowersoul
Summary: Wuthering Heights AU-  Cathy & Heathcliff are Joe & Nicky (but less terrible than C&H because we don't need it to be that bleak).
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [Incandescentflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incandescentflower/pseuds/Incandescentflower) and [Tenillypo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenillypo/pseuds/Tenillypo) for beta-ing and encouragement!
> 
> Note- In this AU, gay marriage and relationships are both commonplace and legal.

The wind howled fiercely, raking across the slate roof of the house called Wuthering Heights. Wuthering a most apt name this night, the gale fit to shake the very stones of the ancient walls loose. Mister Earnshaw returned home from his travels with a bang of the heavy oak door that ratted everyone’s teeth.

Joe dropped the primer he was listlessly squinting at and ran to his father, heedless of the sodden cloak Earnshaw tossed to the floor. “Father! We expected you back three days ago!” he cried, sticking his hands into his father’s pockets in search of sweets.

“I was unavoidably delayed. Now, now,” Earnshaw chuckled, drawing out a small bag of butterscotch candies and tossing it into Joe’s waiting hands. He then pulled a fiddle from his cloak, the strings snapped and the neck hopelessly crushed from the hard journey. Hindley, Joe’s older brother, let out an anguished sob at the sight of his ruined gift. “Ah,” Earnshaw tutted, “I’m sorry, my boy, I suppose I was not as careful with it as I could have been. I quite had my hands full.”

Earnshaw stepped to the side to reveal a small, unkempt urchin lingering behind him with a hard look in his eyes. “This is Nicky. He will live here as your brother.” Earnshaw looked up at Nelly’s gasp. The housekeeper’s hand flew to her mouth as she took in the boy, about Joe’s age, with dirty brown hair and the most piercing blue-green eyes she’d ever seen. “I found him on the streets of Liverpool, Nelly, what could I do? I couldn’t leave him.” Earnshaw clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and nudged him forward. “Joe and Hindley, show Nicky upstairs, there’s good lads.”

Nelly shook her head slowly, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, watching Hindley glower and stalk to the opposite side of the room. Joe grabbed the boy’s hand and turned to him with the full force of his charming smile, dimples and all. Nicky looked back under lowered brows, suspicious, but followed Joe upstairs with their hands still firmly clutched together.

Joe led Nicky up the creaky staircase, past the first two doors in the close, dark hallway, and into his own bed chamber. He used his candle to light two more in the bedroom, then set it down. The room was sparsely furnished, two large wooden cabinet structures were the main features, a chair, and a bookshelf with a dozen books stacked haphazardly. “You can sleep there,” he gestured to the wooden structure against the far wall of the room. Nicky stood silently, his eyes solemnly cataloging every inch of the room. He raised an eyebrow when his gaze followed Joe’s finger pointing to the cabinet.

“Oh, see, it’s a bed,” Joe demonstrated by sliding the door to his cabinet open and showing that inside the odd structures was a small bed piled high with blankets. Joe’s bed had a window above it, the moonlight pierced into the room, glowing a line straight from Joe to Nicky.

Nicky made a little hmph noise in the back of his throat and stalked over to his cabinet. He slid open the door and crawled in, mud-caked shoes and all.

“You… take your shoes off first…” Joe trailed off as Nicky slid the panel and closed himself in.

Later, deep into the darkest hours of the night, Joe woke to the sound of hushed sniffling. He stared out the window at the skinny branches of the tree that tapped so often at the panes he’d become used to the sound. He counted off one hundred branch taps on the window, listened as the sniffling hiccuped a few times, and finally pushed himself up and out of bed after a barely heard whimper.

“You can,” Joe said quietly as he slid open Nicky’s bed panel, “sleep with me?” The question hung between them as Nicky furiously scrubbed at his eyes. Nicky scowled, his eyes hard as flint, pulled the blanket over his head, and turned away from Joe. He only had one blanket. Joe shivered standing there helplessly. He shuffled back to his bed and pulled out the blanket that had been closest to him, retaining some body heat. He crossed the room, his toes cold as icicles on the cold floor, and draped the blanket over Nicky, then closed the panel without another word.

____________________

The next morning, Nelly woke the boys, loudly clomping into the room and pulling Nicky’s bed panel open. “Time to get you washed up and proper ready for the day,” she said, poking Nicky even though he was looking at her with one baleful eye peeking out from under a blanket.

“Nelly,” Joe said peevishly, still ensconced comfortably in his cozy little nook.

“I don’t want a word from you, Joseph Earnshaw,” she said. “Shoes in the bed?” she added incredulously, looking at Nicky with dismay.

Nicky shrugged the two blankets off and thrust himself out of bed, dirty feet first. He followed Nelly down to the kitchen, where a large tub filled with steamy water waited.

As he scrubbed grime off, Nelly took a pair of shears and chopped at his long hair, cutting it just enough so it didn’t fall into his eyes and cover his face. “There now, lad,” she clucked at him, looking pleased with her work, “that’s much better, isn’t it?” He grunted noncommittally but the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly and he looked her full in the face for a millisecond before looking away. “That’ll do,” she murmured, handing him some clean clothes, cast-offs that Hindley had outgrown.

Speak of the devil, Hindley blew into the kitchen, his barely suppressed rage like an aura around him. “That little wretch should be out helping in the stables,” he snarled, not even looking at Nicky. He walked by Nicky just a little too close and knocked him back into the tub, soaking the shirt the boy had already put on.

“You did that on purpose!” Joe yelled, popping out from behind a door and flinging himself onto Hindley, pounding his fists on his brother’s chest. Hindley peeled him off easily and pushed him down onto the flagstone floor.

“Join him, for all I care.” Hindley stalked away.

Nicky sprawled in the tub, legs angled over the sides, his eyebrows set in a glare that would shake anyone to their core. Anyone but Hindley Earnshaw.

Nelly huffed an exasperated sigh and rummaged around in the pile of dirty laundry that was stacked by the door to the yard. The least objectionable shirt and trousers were Joe’s, they were streaked with grass stains and at least a dozen brambles clung to the fabric. “These’ll have to do, for now,” she muttered, thrusting them in Nicky’s direction. Nicky changed quickly, still glowering like a November storm.

“Come on,” Joe said, grabbing Nicky by the hand and dragging him out the front door. Nicky blinked at the difference in light, the sky was brilliant crystal blue and up this high in the moors it felt so close you could almost touch it. Joe led them around to the stable and patted the flank of a squat, shaggy maned pony. “You ride this one,” Joe said, rubbing his hand between the pony’s ears.

Nicky eyed the pony suspiciously. He hoisted himself half up and fumbled with the mane, clutching too hard and missing the aim for his leg, so he stumbled against the sturdy little horse. Joe laughed before he could stop himself. “I’ll help, it’s like this,” he said, as he grabbed Nicky’s leg. Nicky’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t push Joe away. They managed to get him levered up onto the pony, and Nicky watched silently as Joe effortlessly swung himself up onto a bigger horse. Joe clicked his tongue and led them out, onto the moors. The ground was carpeted in purple heather, and the rocky hills on all sides were almost barren of anything other than small gorse brush and a few thin trees that leaned permanently from years of standing against gales.

Joe led them up and far away from the house, until they reached a high hill sheltered almost at the top by an outcropping of rock. It was almost like a little cave, from which they could look out and survey the lonely countryside.

“Rock,” Joe said, pointing at the rocks. “Grass,” he continued, pointing down at their feet. He looked over at Nicky expectantly. “Joe,” he tried again, pointing at himself.

Nicky’s face was all astonishment. “I speak _English_ ,” he said roughly. His voice was lightly accented, but he did, indeed, speak English perfectly well.

“Oh,” Joe said, deflated. “I thought,” he sat down and plucked at a thistle. “I thought maybe you didn’t?”

Nicky rolled his eyes and sat down next to Joe. He pointed at the pony, “horse,” he said, and a hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth.

Joe snorted and looked over at him, grinning broadly.

From that day on, the boys were inseparable, thick as thieves, and wild as the Pennine hills.


	2. Chapter Two

Joe’s eighteenth birthday dawned much the same as any other day. Gray, overcast, but not actively wet or aggressively windy. Nelly gave him a sideways hug in the kitchen. “Happy birthday, lad.” She shoved him playfully toward the table, where a small parcel wrapped in brown paper awaited him. 

“Butterscotch candies?” Joe happily slipped one out of its wrapper and popped it in his mouth. “Just like when Father brought Nicky home… where is Nicky?” Joe felt a slip of disappointment at his absence. 

“Hmm? Out repairing the well, most like. Hindley was up early.” She grimaced. 

Joe’s mouth pulled down. “I’m eighteen now. He can’t,” he gesticulated inarticulately. “He can’t treat Nicky like this. It’s our house, too.” He shrugged a wool sweater on and stomped to the door. He turned around, “Thank you, Nelly.” 

She smiled ruefully at him. “Happy birthday.” 

He found Nicky at the well, bent over and chipping at a stone to shape it into a good fit to replace the crumbling top edge. “You don’t have to do everything he tells you to,” Joe said quietly. Nicky looked up. A purple bruise bloomed across his left cheek. Joe winced. He reached a hand out to touch Nicky’s face, it dropped halfway between them. “I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. 

Hindley was bigger than both of them, angrier than both of them, had never liked Nicky from the moment he was introduced into their home, and years of drinking and failure only made it worse. 

“It’s nothing,” Nicky turned back to the stone, finishing the last corner before fitting it into place. He brushed his hands on his legs. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, looking Joe over. His eyes were fathomless and Joe’s stomach clenched sweet and hot at the way Nicky dragged his gaze slowly down over his old sweater and his faded trousers. 

Joe nodded, his mouth going dry. He followed Nicky’s lead to the stable and out on their horses to the windswept moors. 

Nicky led them up to the hilltop they’d explored so long ago on the first day Nicky lived with the Earnshaws. He offered Joe a small smile and then dipped his head to peer into the saddlebags. He rooted around and came up with a blue horse blanket, it smelled of stables and hay. He laid it on the ground and went back to the bags to pull out a bottle of wine, two cups, half a loaf of bread, and a wedge of cheese. “Happy birthday,” he said, shrugging his shoulders at the meager little picnic. 

Joe’s eyes sparkled. He smiled warmly and stepped around the edge of the blanket to come closer to Nicky. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” He shook his head with a small chuckle of amusement. “This is my favorite place.” Joe looked out at the hills, then turned back to Nicky, whose cheeks were deeply flushed. “With my favorite person.” 

The air hung still between them, charged like the seconds before lightning breaks and the sky opens up. Nicky opened his mouth to say something, anything, but a chill ran down his spine and he just gazed helplessly at Joe. 

“I think,” Joe murmured, canting his head, “I’ve wanted to try this for a long time.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over Nicky’s, gentle, barely there and gone just as fast. 

“Joe,” Nicky whispered. He lifted a hand to Joe’s dark curls and pulled his head closer, crashing their mouths together with a hungry little moan deep in the back of his throat. The kiss was a mess, teeth biting lips, dark little growls coming from one or the other, did it even matter since they were so close, always. Nicky wound his other hand around Joe’s waist, drawing him close. They kissed and kissed, and Joe’s heart pounded next to Nicky’s, and they breathed the same air, and it was like something bigger than life itself was unleashed. 

Joe tugged them down to the blanket, and pushed the wine and food to the side. “I want,” he mumbled into Nicky’s mouth, still almost mindless with the taste of Nicky’s tongue on his own. “I want,” he tried again, as Nicky’s hands sank into his curly hair. 

“What do you want,” Nicky whispered, his voice broken with need. 

“You,” Joe whined, teeth sinking into Nicky’s soft lower lip. “Please, Nicky.” 

Nicky tucked his head down and smiled into the hollow under Joe’s chin, nosing at the skin that smelled heady and summery, like every day they spent racing each other down hillsides. He licked a stripe up Joe’s neck and savored the desperate sound Joe made. 

Joe’s hands skimmed over Nicky’s shoulders, down his back, stopping just in the dip of his lower back. His fingertips were restless, roving back up and down, as he wriggled his hips. Nicky pinned him down, stopping the wriggling with the weight of his body. Feeling held down and surrounded by Nicky, with his tongue still tickling at his neck, made Joe achingly hard. Always able to read his mind, Nicky shifted his hips, letting his answering hardness rub next to Joe’s, wringing a gasp from both of them even though the layers of their trousers dulled the sensation. 

“Your mouth,” Joe groaned. Nicky’s heart stopped for a moment, until he felt Joe nudging his chin up to steal another kiss. They ground their hips together, moaning into each other’s mouths as the friction grew almost unbearable, taking them too quickly to the edge. “Feels so good, _unh_ , Nicky, you feel so good,” Joe babbled, riding the tension and the feeling of _Nicky_ right there.

It wasn’t enough, Nicky wanted _more_ , he pulled back from the kiss and watched Joe’s face as he reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waist of Joe’s pants. Joe tilted his hips in answer, letting Nicky slide them down. Nicky quickly rid himself of his pants, too, but the cool air hitting their skin slowed the frenzy they’d been in moments before. 

Eyes locked, they moved at the same time to take both their cocks in their hands. Joe let out a strangled little moan at the contact, at Nicky’s big hand wrapping around him, at the way they both fit perfectly rubbing together and sending sparks of pleasure all the way up his spine. “Oh!” Joe exclaimed. “Oh, that’s, mmmphm, that’s good,” he let his head drop back to the ground and closed his eyes. 

Nicky drew in a sharp breath, about to lose all control watching Joe lost in ecstasy at what they were doing together. He stroked them both a little faster, watching the way Joe’s breath hitched in his chest. Joe’s hand squeezed them from under Nicky’s hand, sending dizzy waves of lust with every pump of their fists. It was too good, too fast, and it only took a few more strokes to bring them both tumbling over, pulsing hot and wet over their knuckles. “Ahhhh,” Nicky let out a satisfied groan. 

They lay on the scratchy blanket, with bits of hay poking into sensitive skin, starry eyed and sated. 

_______________

Joe wondered sometimes, how they possibly filled their time before, when now every moment they could sneak away was spent kissing, sometimes more, sometimes just sitting slotted together and just existing in each other’s space, breathing synced, fingers lightly playing with hair or trailing over their bodies. They couldn’t get enough of each other, their lust a palpable thing throbbing between them. A wink from Joe, a sly smile from Nicky, it slid down their bones and settled in their guts like twin flames. The touching was good, it was so good, but so were the quiet moments memorizing every detail of their faces and then looking away, out to the hills that were both freedom and cage.

“We could go away,” Nicky murmured one day, nosing down the back of Joe’s neck. “Liverpool. Manchester. York, maybe. There’s work to be had.” 

“Hmmm?” Joe opened one eye. “Away?” He asked like it was a foreign word, like the thought had never crossed his mind. 

Nicky frowned, Joe could feel it on his neck. 

“I just never thought…” Joe said quietly. 

“Forget I said it,” Nicky said gruffly. He pulled away and stared out at the brown hills, it had been a dry summer and nothing was green. 

“No,” Joe turned to look at him. “You want to leave?” 

Nicky sighed. “No.” He rubbed his forehead. His jaw was set in the stubborn way that meant he was done talking. 

Joe looked away, too, for once at a loss for words. 

The disquiet of the day followed them home. Hindley was drunk, stinking drunk, sitting by the fireplace with a jug of rum by his feet, several letters from his banker strewn nearby. 

He cast a bloodshot eye over them. “He,” he pointed unsteadily at Nicky, “sleeps in the stable from now on. I’m not running an orphanage.” He looked mean and spoiling for a fight. His fingers clenched into fists. 

Joe stepped in front of Nicky. “No,” he said, sticking his chin up defiantly. “We’re all adults, we do our fair share of work around here.” 

Hindley lunged up, fast as a snake despite the drink, maybe because of it. He struck out and punched Joe in the face. The crack of his fist hitting bone was louder than it should have been. 

Nicky growled in rage and grappled at Hindley, throwing him to the floor and landing several blows before Hindley levered him off and kicked him viciously. “Get out of my house,” Hindley howled, picking up the rum jug. He aimed for Nicky, but Joe pushed between them, and the jug smashed over his head, knocking him out cold. 

_______________

Joe woke late in the middle of the night, with a damp cloth on his forehead. He groaned. 

“Shhhh,” Nelly sat next to him, stabbing at her needlework in the faint glow of the firelight. 

“Nicky? Where’s Nicky?” Joe asked, panic rising in his throat. 

“Stable,” Nelly said. Her needle jabbed into her thumb and she hissed. “Thought it for the best, considering.” 

Joe winced at the pain as he sat up. 

“Lie down,” Nelly said. “You won’t do him any good dying of a head wound tonight.” 

“I have to go to him. I need to know he’s ok.” Joe stood up, woozy but functional. 

He stumbled into the dark stable, blinking as his eyes adjusted. Nicky sat in a corner, leaning up against the horse stall, the same blue blanket they used for picnics wrapped around him. His head lolled against the wood, he was half asleep. He cracked an eye at the noise Joe made, then shook the sleep from his head and sprang up. 

“You should be in bed,” Nicky said. 

“What are you doing out here,” Joe demanded at the same time. He swayed a little on his feet.

Nicky swept his arms around him and pulled him down into the little nest of hay and blankets. Joe dropped like a weight into his lap. Nicky ran his hands up and down Joe’s arms, making soft little clicking sounds like he did to gentle the horses when they spooked. He tugged the blanket snugly around them. 

Joe closed his eyes and lay his head on Nicky’s shoulder. “Had to know you were ok,” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Mmm,” Nicky pressed his lips into Joe’s hair, feeling the soft curls against his face. He traced a fingertip down Joe’s cheek, along his jawline. 

Joe stretched into the touch like a cat in the sun. “I’m sorry,” he said, arching his neck to encourage Nicky’s fingers down. 

Nicky’s lips grazed his forehead, ghosting against the gash from the fight, and moving down to kiss Joe’s eyelids lightly. “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” he said, his voice wretched. He kissed his way to Joe’s mouth, every movement tentative and soft. His fingers moved down Joe’s neck to his chest, he could never refuse Joe anything he wanted. “Let’s get you back into bed,” he murmured into Joe’s mouth. 

“No, I want to stay here with you.” He grabbed at Nicky’s head, pulling on his hair to make their kiss firmer. Joe swept his tongue along Nicky’s lower lip, teasing, drawing him in. Nicky’s hand spread out, spanning across Joe’s stomach as he gave in to aching need between them. 

“Touch me,” Joe moaned, breathless and a little dizzy, from the kiss or the head wound, it didn’t change the way he burned for Nicky’s hands all over his body. The way he sparked up like kerosene on a wick whenever Nicky’s fingertips brushed delicate circles down his belly to his hidden thatch of curls, and lower to toy with the head of his cock. He handled Joe like something precious and breakable, and Joe squirmed through it to get more friction and drag Nicky down into the raw thrill of want and need that consumed him. 

Nicky groaned and closed his fist around Joe, giving him the long, sure strokes he needed. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he said, turning his head and whispering nonsense into Joe’s neck. “Give you what you need. You look so good all needy like this.” He paused for a second, taking his hand away, and smiled a tiny secret smile at Joe’s whine. He licked a wet stripe across his palm and resumed working Joe over. 

“Nicky, oh lord above,” Joe gasped out at the hot, wet contact. “I can’t,” he panted, writhing through the feeling as pleasure tightened low in his belly and spine. “I can’t hold on longer.” His cock ached in Nicky’s big hands. 

“That’s right,” Nicky said wickedly, “come for me, Joe, let go,” he nipped his teeth lightly at the skin of Joe’s neck and Joe lost it, wailing too loud and coming all over Nicky’s hands, just coming and coming and buzzing from the way his head felt vaguely wooley. “That’s so good, my Joe, so good,” Nicky murmured. He brought his hand up to his mouth, looked Joe square in the eyes, and licked his hand clean. Joe shuddered in his arms. 

… Sometime in the night Nicky must have carried him into the house, because Joe woke up well past noon the next day tucked in his bed. His head ached like never before. A mug of tea, long since gone cold, sat on the floor by his bed. 


	3. Chapter Three

Hindley left for town before Joe roused; he must have taken a room for some nights, his absence was like the house exhaling. Nicky and Joe didn’t talk about it, after. Perhaps they should have, but a storm blew in from the east and a heavy branch knocked half the chimney down, not to mention the pasture wall that needed mending before the sheep wandered clear into Lancashire. 

Several days later, they were up just past dawn. Fog rolled in great banks through the hills, it was so thick the house was lost to it from just twenty paces away. The kind of day that was foolish to stray far abroad, one wrong step in the moors would pull a man down to his death. Stories of men lost to the peat bogs were nightmare fuel for local children. 

Joe was restless and sore from the days of long work. Nicky was quiet, more so than usual. The energy between them was like an itch that was impossible to reach. They ate cold porridge for breakfast, their spoons scraping the bowls the only sound between them. Joe cleared his throat. “Think I’ll go check the hayloft. Storm might have knocked some beams loose.” 

Nicky was hunched over his bowl, he looked up with a dark look in his green eyes. “You’ll need someone to hold the light up for you.” 

Joe nodded. They pushed up from the table at the same time. Nicky paused to light a lantern with a spill from the fireplace. 

By the time they reached the barn, the house had been swallowed up by fog behind them. Both men knew the path from house to barn so well, they could find it with their eyes closed. It felt like they were the only people on earth at that early hour of the morning, with nothing in sight beyond themselves. All others could have vanished from the mortal plane and they’d be none the wiser, nor would they care, so long as they were both still there together. 

The barn smelled earthy, like wet wool and hay. Nicky led them up the ladder to the loft. He set the lantern on a hook and turned to watch Joe from half-lidded eyes. Joe huffed a little laugh. “I didn’t really need to check the beams,” he admitted. He drew in a sharp breath at the hungry look Nicky gave him. 

“I know,” Nicky said simply, not moving a muscle to bridge the steps between them. 

“Something troubles you?” Joe’s dark eyes shone in the lantern light, so expressive, his entire heart open there to see. 

Nicky’s mouth twisted, the briefest flicker, but he shook his head. He reached for Joe and pulled him close. “Couldn’t sleep last night. I dreamt I forgot what your face looked like.” He traced his thumb down Joe’s nose and rested it in the little dip just above his mouth, where Joe was cultivating a stubble that yearned to be more than a shadow. 

Joe shivered. “Should have come to me,” he muttered. He touched the tip of his tongue to Nicky’s thumb. 

“Mmm.” Nicky drew his hands around to clasp at the back of Joe’s head, lacing his fingers together. He pulled lightly until their foreheads touched. Joe winced a little, still healing from the incident, which they were definitely not talking about as they dragged their lips along each others’ jaws but not meeting in the middle. 

Perhaps it was the early hour, perhaps the eerie otherworldly feel of the fog outside, perhaps it was a slow boil of his entire life, whatever the cause, Nicky was in a _mood_. He tightened his fingers in Joe’s curls and let his fingernails dig in just insistent enough to get an answering nip of sharp teeth in his lower lip. 

Joe was half hard already; he knocked his knee into Nicky’s thigh to make room for him to crowd in and press against him. Nicky let out a choked little sound and pushed Joe over to the wall. He grabbed Joe’s hands and pinned them above his head. “The things I want to do to you,” Nicky whispered, his breath hot in Joe’s ear. “You drive me mad, wanting you, all the time.” He kissed just below Joe’s earlobe and that was enough to get Joe the rest of the way to achingly hard. 

“I could stay here in the hay loft with you forever,” Joe said, “Never stop touching y-” he hissed as Nicky dropped to his knees and mouthed at him through his trousers. Joe’s hands dropped uselessly to his side before tangling in Nicky’s hair as his trousers hit the floor. Nicky groaned at the sight of him, he sat back on his heels and just drank it in, the way Joe looked down at him with lust in his eyes, the way Joe’s cock responded to his words and touch. It was too much and it was not enough, never enough. 

Nicky leaned back in and swallowed Joe down to the root in one movement. He held Joe’s hips down, thumbs pressing into his hip bones. Joe cried out helplessly while Nicky drew his tongue slowly up, drooling a little as he worked his mouth over Joe’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the head and tasted the salty beads of precome bursting hot on his tongue. Joe’s hands scrabbled restlessly in Nicky’s hair. Nicky did something with his hands and his mouth, squeezing and sucking and just about killing Joe with pleasure clawing its way through his belly, up into his chest. He grunted a punched out sound when Nicky’s fingers stroked his balls and reached just a little farther back, to some hidden dark place that felt like white hot lightning when Nicky pressed his thumb on it. 

“I’m, Nicky, I’m-” he groaned again, Nicky’s mouth was so hot and wet all around him. “I’m close,” he whispered, barely getting the words out before he felt his legs shake and the sweet hot rush start to build, his balls aching, his cock almost throbbing. Nicky looked up at him, mouth full of cock, sweat beading on his forehead, and Joe fell over the edge. His climax wrung him out, he doubled over, steadying himself with his hands on Nicky’s shoulders, his come spurting down Nicky’s throat. He opened his eyes enough to watch Nicky’s adam apple bob as he swallowed it all down.

Joe let his head fall back against the wall. Nicky wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and gave Joe a smile that was absolutely feral. “Give me a moment,” Joe said breathlessly, “I’ll take care of you, just, a moment.” He was boneless and blissfully empty. 

Nicky sat next to him, braced against the wall, and shucked off his trousers. His cock was thick and so ready. He stroked himself slowly, holding Joe’s gaze until Joe broke to look down and unconsciously licked his lips at the sight of Nicky fisting himself. Joe leaned over, his dark eyes brimming with something more than lust, and kissed Nicky, sweet and soft. 

“You’re always drunk from it, after,” Nicky murmured between kisses.

“Not always,” Joe protested, curling his fists into Nicky’s shirt. He lifted the shirt up and off, placing it on the floor. He nudged at Nicky. “Lie down,” he said, his voice husky. 

Nicky shifted himself down, one hand still holding himself, a challenge sparking in his green eyes. 

Joe followed, settling into the space between splayed out legs, teasing his way up the tender skin of Nicky’s inner thighs. He reached up and batted Nicky’s hand away from himself. “Stop,” he muttered into the musky hollow where thigh met hip, “let me.” He exhaled and ghosted his breath over Nicky’s straining cock, then licked delicately at the head with just the tip of his tongue. His left hand spread out on Nicky’s belly, anchoring him. 

“Wicked,” Nicky ground out, bucking his hips up to demand more of Joe’s mouth. “You torment me. And after what I just gave you.” He whined as Joe kept his tongue schooled, decorous, just small short explorations of every inch of his cock, maddening as Nicky squirmed to chase the feeling. Joe pressed down with his hand, quelling him. He grinned at the flex of muscles beneath his palm. 

“You’ll live,” Joe said, abandoning his efforts altogether to press a kiss onto Nicky’s hip. He shifted on the hard wood floor and watched as Nicky’s purpled cock leaked a thin line of fluid. Joe dragged a finger through it and smeared it into the coarse hairs that fuzzed Nicky’s lower abdomen. 

Nicky groaned like his heart was being split open. “Joe, if you don’t touch me, I swear.” 

“Shhh, don’t swear,” Joe grazed his palm fleetingly over Nicky’s cock. It bobbed, from his palm to Nicky’s stomach, an obscene little movement that made Joe feel crazed. “You touched me,” Joe muttered, squinting in the dim light, “right here, I think,” and he pressed the pad of a thumb up into a soft patch of skin behind Nicky’s balls. 

“Fuck!” Nicky writhed, so close to coming undone. 

Joe finally, _finally_ , took Nicky in hand, stroking up once, then sliding his mouth down the shaft. He let his spit run down to where his hand pumped the base of Nicky’s cock, hollowed out his cheeks, sucking slow and firm. Nicky mumbled a string of barely audible filth, shaking while Joe wrecked him. Joe looked up when he felt Nicky tense, their eyes locked and Nicky’s orgasm ripped through him. It was so intense Joe’s muscles trembled in response.

“You know,” Joe said conversationally, as he lay half on top of Nicky, drawing circles with a fingertip on his chest. “I don’t think you were even speaking English by the end.” 

Nicky huffed a little. The language of his birthplace slipped out so rarely, he’d abandoned it quickly with the Earnshaws. “Italian is a romance language,” he said. 

Joe laughed. “I’m sure what you were saying was quite _romantic_.” 

Nicky smiled beatifically at him, “ _Sì_.” 


	4. Chapter Four

Joe and Nicky were out on a long ramble. The air was bracing, the sun shone, there was not a better day to be alive on the Yorkshire moors. They crossed an ancient clapper bridge, flat rocks balanced on large stones stacked up in a swiftly flowing stream. 

“There it is,” Joe pointed, “Penistone Crags.” A sheer column of rocks jutted out from the top of a tall hill. They hiked up the steep hillside. Bursts of white cloudberry flowers studded the purple heather. The late summer air smelled herbaceous, redolent with the last gasp of the growing season. 

At the very top of the crags the wind buffeted them. Joe leaned into Nicky, back to chest, and Nicky wrapped his arms around him. “They say if you go into the Fairy Cave you’ll be married within the year.” Joe said, gesturing at the opening in the crags they had seen on their hike up. 

“Do they now,” Nicky murmured, resting his chin on Joe’s shoulder. 

A large well-kept house in the valley below them caught Joe’s eye. “What do you suppose they’re doing at Thrushcross Grange?” he mused. “Tea parties and piano recitals?” 

Nicky snorted. “Scripture readings and lectures on propriety, more like.” 

Joe got a gleam in his eye. “Want to see?” He broke from their embrace and nudged Nicky’s arm. “Race you down there?” 

Nicky gave an answering grin and dashed off down the hill. 

They snuck onto the grounds through an opening in the hedge. The landscaping was manicured to perfection, and the house practically sparkled like a jewel compared to the dark stone farmhouse of Wuthering Heights. The men crept like brigands to the windows and peered in. The Lintons, Edgar and Isabella, were about their age, but seemed like otherworldly creatures in their rich refinement. 

Suddenly, a snarling hound tore around the corner of the building, launching at them. It bayed and jumped on Joe, sinking its sharp teeth deep into his calf. 

“Joe!” Nicky yelped, horrified. He pulled desperately at the animal, but his efforts only seemed to lodge the teeth deeper. “Get off!” he bellowed. 

A man careened into the melee, shouting at the dog. “Skulker! Away!” He grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck, and the dog ceased its frenzy only at hearing its master’s voice. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the man barked, looking at Joe’s bleeding leg with ire. “What the devil are you doing lurking about, looking to rob this house?” He glared accusingly at Nicky and shook his finger at them. “See what such devilment gets you.” 

Edgar and Isabella Linton rushed into their unwelcome little party, twin looks of shock on their faces. “Father! It’s Joseph Earnshaw! From up at Wuthering Heights,” Edgar volunteered. 

“Best send for the doctor, fast,” Mr. Linton said, shooing Edgar off on the errand. Joe’s leg was a bloody mess. 

“I can take him home,” Nicky protested. His hand gripped possessively on Joe’s shoulder. 

“Nay, not with him in this condition.” Now Mrs. Linton joined them, pursing her lips and kneeling down to press a clean cloth to Joe’s leg. She kept pressure on it and looked up at Nicky with a moue of distaste. “He can stay here until the leg’s healed enough for walking. ‘Tis no bother.” 

Mr. Linton frowned at Nicky, “Long walk back, best get started before you lose the light.” 

Nicky shook his head, frantic, words catching in the back of his throat. “I won’t leave him,” he said, looking wildly at Joe, at the red staining the cloth Mrs. Linton held to his leg. 

Mrs. Linton scoffed, “You’ll not stay here,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Isabella hung back, twisting a strand of flaxen hair around her finger, her blue eyes transfixed on Nicky like he was something fascinating and repulsive. 

“Go on,” Joe croaked to Nicky. “I’ll be home tomorrow, no doubt it looks worse than it is.” He gave Nicky a tremulous smile. “Nelly will be worried sick if we aren’t home after sundown.” 

Nicky scowled, a fearsome visage that surely was not going to endear him to the Lintons. He squeezed Joe’s shoulder once and walked silently away, his misery palpable in his wake. 


End file.
